Postcard From My Turkish Bodyguard

I wanted to reach behind the counter and slap his face.

Not an urge common for me — but one justified in the moment.

My bus to Izmir wasn’t leaving Istanbul until the following morning, but I’d gone in the night before to secure myself a ticket.

As soon as I walked through the front door, I greeted the disgruntled employee in Turkish, “Merhaba!”

His head remained tilted, staring down at his phone.

He didn’t mumble a word.

Immediately, I could feel his hostile energy.

He hated his job, his life, and me… whether it be because I wasn’t Turkish, I didn’t speak Turkish, or I’d inconvenienced his doom-scrolling on TikTok, I wasn’t sure.

“Merhaba, kardes (hello, brother),” I repeated, slightly louder.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye — but still, not a single muscle moved.

Had a local friend not recommended this spot, I would’ve just turned around and walked back out.

Instead, I stayed… determined to try and spark some kind of connection in order to guarantee myself a seat.

I pulled out my phone and opened Google Translate — quickly typing: “Bus to Izmir. Tomorrow morning, please.”

And then I remembered to add: “If possible, due to a back problem, I’d like to request an empty seat beside me.”

I gently slid my phone through the semi-circled opening at the bottom of the glass between us.

Without missing a beat, he let out a deep, overly dramatic sigh… then slung his phone up against the base of his computer monitor.

With my central nervous system already on high alert, the echo of his Samsung bouncing just inches below sent my head and neck flinching back.

Still unwilling to look up, he snatched my phone off the counter.

His angry, beady eyes scanned the translated text while he shook his head “no” and began barking at me in Turkish.

In that moment, I knew whatever rage he was carrying had little of anything to do with me.

Still… I was the only one standing there — merely inches away — on the receiving end of his unjustified fury.

Maybe the translation didn’t make sense? Maybe I shouldn’t have requested an empty seat?

Whatever it was, his reaction was as though I’d just personally insulted his mom, dad, and entire bloodline.

When I reached through the glass to take my phone back, he abruptly shot up from his chair.

As if this man wasn’t intimidating enough before, he was now stood towering over me.

For context, I’m 6’2”… and while Turks aren’t necessarily known for being a culture of height — this dude was an absolute giant.

Seething, with his black, beady eyes now staring down on me, I was transported back in time.

Thirty-five years.

When one of the seniors at the high-school I was about to enter into decided to put a target on my back.

The details of his brutal bullying aren’t important, but I will say this:

He was four years older, more than a head taller, and did his damndest to make my freshman year a living hell.

So there I am… standing in some random ticket office on the Asian side of Istanbul, Turkey — literally six thousand miles from home.

Yet my brain starts swimming between the shame of being a scared 13-year-old boy… and the confusion of my current, adult reality — one that suddenly feels triggering and all too familiar.

Then, serendipitously, the door behind me slings open and the uncomfortable silence is momentarily swallowed by the ruckus from the street.

Calm, cool, and collected, in strolls a young, tiny Turk.

His eyes were just as black as the giant’s… but they were much, much kinder.

Even before he said a word, energetically, I could tell this kid was gonna be an ally.

“Merhaba… do you speak English?” I asked.

“Only little. I try.” He responded.

“Maybe you can help me. I need to buy a bus….”

On cue, the giant started yelling and foaming at the mouth — pointing at my phone, and me, like I’d just committed a crime.

As the tiny Turk fearlessly approached the counter, he was literally half the giant’s size.

It didn’t matter.

Firat immediately matched the giant’s volume and aggression.

He started slapping the counter with the palm of one hand, while pointing at the bus company’s sign on the wall with the other.

Presumably reminding the man, “This is your job!”

After several seconds of heated exchange, Firat snatched my phone from the giant’s side of the glass, grabbed me by the wrist, and marched us out the front door — firing off a stream of Turkish curse words the whole way out.

Back on the street, I couldn’t help but take a few long, deep breaths… then let out a few confused, nervous laughs.

And while the whole scene was fucking intense… I’ve rarely ever felt that amount of love for someone I’d met less than five minutes before.

The way he stood up for me… a complete stranger.

That’s the kind of thing I do.

Despite — or maybe because of — not doing so as a kid, I’ve grown into someone who’s always ready and willing to stand up for anyone in my earshot who’s being disrespected or mistreated.

I was just so caught off guard by the giant’s behavior — and with the language barrier, I couldn’t get my footing fast enough to try and hold my own.

Firat had no such issue.

The second he felt the giant’s unprovoked anger, he took it upon himself to protect me.

Shoulder to shoulder, we stood on that street corner for the next half hour, sharing a few beers and giving it hell trying to communicate via Google Translate.

Firat was set to take a 12-hour, overnight bus back to his family’s home in Marmaras.

He apologized profusely for the giant’s behavior, reminding me that I was a guest in their country.

As his bus horn beeped, signaling it was soon to depart, we exchanged numbers and hugs.

The last thing he typed into the translator was an invitation for me to come see him in Marmaras.

Since leaving Turkey, my little bodyguard and I have continued to check on one another via WhatsApp.

In fact, I woke up to a message from Firat yesterday morning — letting me know he was moving from Marmaras to Izmir.

He found a new job as a line cook in a restaurant, and he wanted me to know that’s where I should come find him when I return to Turkey.

And that is what ultimately spurred me to share such a vulnerable story.

Even though the night we met stirred up a few memories I’d rather not revisit…

Firat’s actions are something I’ll never, ever forget.

Of course I thanked him that night back on the streets of Istanbul — but I never went into detail as to why it meant so much.

I’m not sure I could properly translate what he’d actually done.

Not only had he stood up to an eerily familiar, oversized bully…

But he did so for a kid who was once too afraid to do the same.

With Gusto,

Adrian

PS: I went back to the exact same spot the following morning to get my ticket. I can be stubborn like that. The photo of the ticket counter above is from then, so the guy in it is not the giant. The Turk behind the counter above was much nicer and more than happy to honor my request for an empty seat along the way.

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